


they brought a joyful song

by Sternenstaub



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Beltane, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Holidays, Jaskier wants to make Geralt happy, M/M, Midsummer, Samhain, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Yule, a year seen in 4 snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sternenstaub/pseuds/Sternenstaub
Summary: Jaskier learns that Geralt doesn´t celebrate any holidays and tries to show him the love and fun these celebrations can bring.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 29
Kudos: 163
Collections: BIKM Secret Santa Event 2020





	1. Beltane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [inexplicifics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inexplicifics/gifts).



> written for the secret yule event in the BiKM discord for the amazing inexplicifics.  
> A big thank you to Octinary who beta-ed and made sure this was understandable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update note: I pushed the publication date for the last chapter once because it's spring now and this is not just a Christmas fic.  
> originally this was posted on December 25th 2020, so if this seems familiar, that might be why.

"It's such a pity you couldn't bring along your witcher." 

Valdo's voice grated on his nerves and Jaskier wished for nothing more than this official dinner to be over. Why again did the dean decide to sit them next to each other? Ah yes, she knew they couldn't stand to be close and she wanted him to suffer after the dinner last year when he had ended up accidentally flirting with the Duke of Kerack, whose wife was not impressed and decided to withhold the generous donation she usually gifted to the fine arts. He glared at the blond woman who seemed to have no care in the world as she talked with a dark haired man and touched his arm. Interesting. He filed that information away before Valdo demanded his attention again. 

"It would have been  _ so  _ interesting to hear how these  _ witchers _ ," he spat the word like other people say freak, mutant, or beast, although most were smart enough not to do so within Jaskier’s hitting range, "celebrate Yule. I'm sure they have  _ unique _ customs." 

Oh, how Jaskier hated this man, spewing his racism and prejudices all over the school, the one place that should teach young people to be open minded. He bared his teeth in a forced approximation of a smile, “I´m sure nothing could be as  _ unique  _ as your latest rhyming scheme, dear Valdo.” The man preened while Jaskier hoped the evening would be over soon. 

As much as he had hated the Yule dinner, the food had been good and the drinks plenty. Still, one thing wouldn't leave his mind: How did his witcher celebrate? Jaskier suddenly realized that they had not celebrated one holiday intentionally over the year. Sometimes they had stumbled into a small town preparing a celebration and stayed so Jaskier could make some money off the festive mood, but Geralt never seemed to participate; he kept his distance no matter what Jaskier tried. At one point he'd come to the conclusion that his witcher probably couldn't stand the noise and stopped annoying him to join him for a dance. But was that really the reason? He couldn't help but wonder. 

Maybe witchers had their own holidays. It would make sense, they were a secluded community and many of those had their own gods and customs. For people whose whole life consisted of fighting and rescuing, who depended on their swords and armor as much as a farmer on his plough and cow it would be sound to reason they celebrated different things. Were there times when smithing metal was easier? Moonphases that made wounds heal faster and days that were spent in quiet, remembering those that had not come back home? A day to remember the gruesome trials and that they shall be never recreated? Geralt hadn´t told him much about them, but it had been enough to make Jaskier realize what those mages had done was entirely inhuman.

He wondered all winter about witcher customs and culture, surprised at how little he still knew after years of traveling with one of them. He guessed it wouldn´t hurt to just ask Geralt when they met again.

\---

The day of the first stirrings of spring had come and gone before the snow in the mountains had truly melted, so Jaskier had not been able to meet Geralt as Imbolc had approached and with it the promises and pledges for a better new year. And when Jaskier finally saw his witcher approach on the dusty road again, walking just a bit faster than normal towards his direction, he was too happy to ask about any holidays. To see Geralt more relaxed and filled out than when they separated for the winter, without new scars and less dark bags under his eyes and a healthy weight on his ribs filled his chest with a warm stirring he ignored in favor of greeting Geralt with a warm smile. 

"My favorite witcher, thank you for fetching me. Who would have known what perils I would have gotten myself into, should you have decided not to enjoy my company this spring," he declared dramatically. 

Geralt rolled his eyes but Jaskier was sure he saw his lips twitch. "I'm the only witcher you know," Geralt grumbled. 

"Still my favorite." Jaskier skipped past him to hide the sudden flush on his cheeks, but could hear the good natured chuckle behind him at his antics. 

It was late April when they traveled through a small town. Beltane, the holiday of life, was fast approaching and everyone was trying to build the biggest bonfire so the gods would notice your prayers for a good summer with plenty of harvest and new life to bless your family. The folk in town were already building a huge bonfire and decorating the market place. They had no witcher contracts but the innkeep had been nice enough and barely glanced at Geralt, only looking at the coin in their hands. With their bellies full and clothes dry, Geralt and Jaskier sat in the rented room, two beds on opposite sites and a table in the middle. The tavern keep had had no use for a bard tonight with everyone so busy preparing for Beltane. Jaskier couldn't say he truly minded; maybe he would find the time to talk to Geralt this way. The witcher sat on a chair and sharpened his swords, not that they needed sharpening, wearing just an undershirt and loose trousers. Jaskier loved to see Geralt so unguarded next to him. Gods knew it took several months until the witcher had stopped flinching whenever Jaskier moved at night or touched his shoulder.

He stopped tuning his lute and sat cross legged in his bed, watching his witcher until Geralt seemed to notice. It didn't take very long but Jaskier still appreciated the chance to watch those muscled arms work meticulously, to see those shoulders relax and the frown on his face vanish. Golden eyes looked up at him questioningly and Jaskier smiled at him. He loved that Geralt seemed to still be surprised every single time at Jaskier´s smile, that he, a witcher, could cause such a reaction in anyone.

"Say Geralt, can I ask you a question?" The witcher lifted one corner of his mouth and Jaskier knew he thought that he'd ask either way, so with a small laugh, he continued, "Do witchers celebrate holidays? Do you have different ones?" 

Golden eyes fixed him and Geralt stopped sharpening his sword, full attention on Jaskier. "Why would we celebrate different holidays?" his deep voice asked, slightly confused.

"It's just, well, I never saw you celebrate any of the major holidays, even if we were in a town and wondered if maybe they're not yours. I would like to give you the chance to honor your holidays if you tell me about them?" he fidgeted. This idea had seemed less stupid before he said it out loud. What was he thinking, why would Geralt want to celebrate specific witcher holidays with a non witcher?

A small smile played around golden eyes. Oh, how he loved to see them crinkle! Even if Geralt was laughing at him, it was worth it. "No special holidays, we all were human once, same festivals as everyone else," he rumbled.

Confused, Jaskier thought about their travels, "Why did you never join in then? Last year at Beltane we were in a town just like this. I saw you at the edges of the crowd but you left." 

Geralt looked down again, shoulders hunched. "Not up to it," he muttered and started polishing a sword that did not need polishing and Jaskier knew the talk was over. 

The sun was set at that point and the people seemed to have stopped preparations for the bonfire. The town went to sleep and Jaskier thought they should as well. He walked to the window to take a look at the night, enjoying the mild breeze that promised good weather, and closed it. When he turned around Geralt watched him, still sitting with a sword in his lap. As Jaskier walked back through the room, he squeezed his witcher´s shoulder with a small smile. "Good night." he whispered and fell into bed. The rumble he got in answer almost sounded like a "sleep well." With a grin on his lips, he fell into his dreams.

The next morning Geralt nudged him awake and Jaskier tried to hit him with a pillow. The witcher evaded it easily but his eyes glinted in mischief. It was too early for any living being to be awake, which obviously meant that the market was already bustling and the innkeep was banging pots in the kitchen. When they went down, Geralt fully armored and ready to travel, Jaskier in a crumpled shirt and hair askew, the townsfolk were decorating the marketplace again, putting on some last finishing touches. An older man approached Jaskier and offered him a gig to play that evening. The pay was not much, but better than nothing. Jaskier agreed happily.

“Will you wait for me?” he asked later, suddenly afraid Geralt would travel without him again and not waste another day in this town without monsters. The witcher grumbled but set down his bags on the bed they rented yesterday and said something about brushing down Roach and that she could use a day´s rest. Warmth spread in Jaskier´s chest and he smiled while tuning his lute and making a list of songs that would fit the occasion.

As the evening of Beltane approached, all of the town gathered around a bonfire and music and food was shared. Young people danced and flirted, sharing colorful ribbons to show affection and Jaskier played for hours, jumping through the crowd and dancing on tables. A plump girl with dimpled cheeks gave him two blue ribbons should he want to show anyone his appreciation on this night as well and left him with a wink. Busy as he was, he could barely try to glance around the crowd, having long since lost his feeling for time and where anyone was. They were all just a crowd of colors. 

After his set was finished, Jaskier took a big gulp of an ale that tasted like honey and looked around for Geralt. He didn't know if his witcher had come in the first place or preferred to stay at the inn and avoid the noise. At the edge of the festival he could see white hair and approached the shadow standing under a tree. "You came!" Jaskier beamed up at him and his golden eyes met Jaskier’s. 

"You asked." Geralt rumbled and Jaskier swore his chest warmed up at this statement, to see Geralt take what they had talked about to heart and join the festivities when Jaskier hadn't even outright demanded it. High on adrenaline and excitement, he took Geralt's hand. It wasn't like they never touched; Jaskier was a very tactile person and Geralt had stopped flinching sometime during their travels whenever their skin met, but Jaskier still rarely took Geralt's hand in his. His witcher watched him with a curious head tilt. 

"Let's dance!" Jaskier tried to tug him into the crowd but Geralt didn't budge. His golden eyes seemed sad suddenly. 

When Jaskier looked up, he shook his head. "No dancing. Ask the girl from before or someone else." Geralt's eyes flickered to the crowd and Jaskier watched them like his witcher saw them. Loud and human and glancing warily in his direction whenever they came close. Not one person had come in touching range of the tree and Geralt since they stood here and Jaskier felt his heart break. 

He didn't let go of Geralt's hand and took out the blue ribbon with his free one. With a quick twist he wrapped the ribbon around Geralt's wrist, putting the other one over his own. His witcher looked at him like he was a puzzle to understand, but Jaskier just winked up at him. "The music is loud enough, let's dance a bit away?" he asked, hoping he'd read Geralt right. His witcher seemed to relax a bit at that and nodded. 

Jaskier easily led him to a place that was in the shadow of the roaring bonfire and it felt like they were alone. "Thank you," Jaskier whispered, as he took both of Geralt's hands for a slow and easy dance. 

Their faces were just inches apart when they started moving, and they didn't quite match the rhythm, but Jaskier couldn't bring himself to care when he stared up at warm golden eyes glinting in the shine of the moonlight and felt warm, sword calloused hands holding his. Geralt was a surprisingly good dancer once he lost the tension in his body. His shoulders relaxed and his back straightened when Jaskier beamed up at him after the first few steps. He could have sworn Geralt's mouth turned into a real smile but it was too dark to be entirely sure. They moved together for several songs before Jaskier fell into a well muscled chest, laughing, when he tripped over a stone in the darkness. Wrapping his arms around Geralt, he hugged him tightly, enjoying the warmth radiating from his body in contrast to the cooling night. He nuzzled his head into his witcher's neck and breathed deeply. He thought he saw goosebumps forming there. 

Geralt cleared his throat and took a step back, but didn't let go of his hand. "We need to start early tomorrow," he said to a place slightly above Jaskier's head. Without a glance back to the still dancing townsfolk they went back to the inn. 

The next morning, Jaskier saw Geralt wrapping the blue ribbon around his sword sheath. With a fluttering heart he did the same with his on his lute case. 


	2. Midsummer

Geralt had just fought a noonwraith in a field when Jaskier remembered it would be Midsummer soon. After their last holiday together, he was hesitantly hopeful that Geralt would indulge him again. The blue ribbons were still secured to the tools of their respective crafts and warmth bloomed in his chest every time Jaskier saw Geralt touch the ribbon, fiddling with it while he was seemingly deep in thought.

The town that had posted the contract for the noonwraith was obviously not welcoming to a witcher in their midst on their best days. Jaskier had managed to stock up their supplies while Geralt had been on the hunt and after a few threats Geralt was even paid the agreed upon amount for the monster contract. 

They left town the afternoon before the sun would have her longest day. Jaskier looked at the market place with a heavy heart, food and drinks were prepared and offered but the merchants had barely tolerated the stranger who was human in their midst, they would absolutely not tolerate Geralt. Even Jaskier could hear them hiss and mutter.His witcher had hunched his shoulders and lowered his head as he led Roach towards the woods with a stony face. Jaskier followed without a word. 

They made camp up on a hill close to a stream. The warm and light breeze ruffled their hair. Geralt fished for their dinner, for once not having to go hunting, and Jaskier procured some wine he had gotten for a decent price from their saddlebags, Jaskier had long since decided that most things in them belonged to the both of them and didn't separate their belongings anymore. At Geralt's raised eyebrow at the expensive treat he defended, "It's Midsummer, Geralt! We have to celebrate in some way." 

The golden eyes that looked at him suddenly seemed darker and Geralt looked away quickly, "Could have stayed then," he huffed, cleaning the fish, taking no further note of Jaskier, but the bard saw that Geralt's eyes flicked once towards the blue ribbon wrapped around his sheath. 

The bard just laughed, "And spend it without you? No way." Geralt still didn't turn towards him, but some tension seemed to leave his body. “It's the perfect weather to watch the sun make her longest round up on that hill,” he nodded towards the clearing a few steps away. The sky was clear and they´d be able to see the horizon without any fog obscuring the view.

They ate the fish in silence, or as much silence as Jaskier could stand, commenting on the woods and the weather and the spices they'd brought, comparing different fish and their qualities. Geralt seemed to ignore him mostly.

It was very late when the sun started to set, it truly was the longest day of the year, and Jaskier watched from his vantage point on top of the hill how the sun bathed everything in red, then watched the sky turn orange and purple. A glass of wine in his hand, he noticed Geralt standing behind him, not close enough to say they were standing together but he knew the witcher watched the sun as well, probably seeing it's light for much longer than his human eyes could.

Jaskier laid down into the grass to watch the stars, enjoying the coolness of the night after the heat of the day. He patted the space next to him, setting a second wine mug down and after a moment the rustling noise told him Geralt was lying down next to him. "Do you know the constellations? I mean, beyond how to navigate with them?" he asked and Geralt hummed in a way that told him he probably knew but didn't want to talk. "I always enjoyed their stories. They're often about lovers who can only meet once a year, chock full of romance and tragedy." Jaskier sighed and looked at Geralt, who had his head propped up to drink the wine and seemed to be watching him rather than the stars. 

"Love shouldn't be tragic," the witcher murmured and Jaskier felt his breath hitch at the sight of his witcher, lips stained red from wine, skin even paler and almost looking vulnerable in the moonlight. 

A slow smile bloomed on his face. "No, it shouldn't be. But I prefer a one sided tragic love to no love at all." Geralt just huffed at that, probably rolling his eyes, but Jaskier couldn't see it in the darkness.

They watched the stars until the night waned, not sleeping at all, instead waiting for the longest day to pass, thinking about their life and aware that they had limited time until winter would strike again. Jaskier hoped they'd make the most out of it. When the first rays of the sun kissed their faces, Jaskier yawned loudly. Geralt chuckled, "You'll regret this later today."

"Worth it," he beamed at Geralt, exorbitantly pleased that they had spent yet another important date together. When they started to travel towards the next contract, the blue ribbons secured to their tools of trade waved in the wind.


	3. Samhain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter talks about grief and loss of parents

The summer had been truly busy for them both. Geralt had slain a striga, two kikimora and uncounted drowners while Jaskier had been asked to write a song for a countess and also performed at the annual bardic competition under a different name. He didn't win that year but it was a close call. The judges had favoured a well known name over his, someone who they knew would bring in more revenue, no matter what actual quality their songs had. He wasn't mad about it, not at all, not anymore. And no, Geralt didn't have to stop him from putting laxatives into the water supply of the tavern the judges stayed at; that was a rumor he wouldn't even deign to answer.

When Samhain approached Jaskier´s heart grew heavy. It was the day to remember the dead and he had much to remember; also Geralt always parted ways with him shortly after, before the mountain pass closed with snow. This would be the last holiday of the year they would spend together; Jaskier hoped he could make the best out of it, though he doubted it'd be a happy memory. 

They were close to Lettenhove, traveling through Kerack on their way north. The wind was biting at Jaskier's cheeks and he knew he'd have to buy new moisturizer soon, his skin turning painfully dry in the harsh northern rain. He looked at his witcher, atop his horse, white hair flowing in the wind (at least the strands that were not matted with monster blood), back straight, looking at the approaching town. He would also buy some soaps.

"You're sure you want to stay here tonight? You can visit them any time." Geralt asked as they came closer to the small town, turning around to face Jaskier and watching him with a worried frown. 

He felt his heart thump harder in his chest. Geralt rarely showed him he cared and to see his witcher voice it openly would always feel novel and special. The bard nodded; it was time to return home. 

The house looked inviting but the sight of lit windows and kind servants with the Lettenhove sigill embroidered on their uniforms made Jaskier choke. His uncle and nephew greeted him with open arms and sad smiles. They knew he wouldn't stay and why he was here. After dinner, they led him and Geralt to adjacent rooms and left them alone. 

Jaskier wandered circles in his room for several minutes, playing with the blue ribbon on his lute case as if it was grounding him, its edges starting to get frayed with frequent use, until Geralt knocked on his door. His witcher had put on his best shirt, meaning the one least bloody and frayed at the edges, and bound back his freshly washed hair with a familiar blue ribbon. Warmth bloomed in Jaskier's chest at the view of a slightly uncomfortable witcher who still put in the effort just for him. 

"We don't have to do this tonight. You can try again." 

But Jaskier shook his head. "It's time, but thank you for worrying." He squeezed Geralt's hand once. "I want to introduce you to my parents. You're my dearest friend and one of the most important people in my life and I think they would have liked to meet you." The pressure behind his eyes built up again and Jaskier had to breathe several times until he could feel it fading. 

Geralt nodded, "It'd be my honor to meet them."

Julian Alfred Pankratz took the hand of his witcher and led him outside. The sun had gone down and the night of Samhain had started. Today was the day to remember the dead and that's what he'd do: honor his parents by never forgetting them. The people in town were celebrating around a big bonfire, dancing and drinking and celebrating life, but Julian wanted to remember differently this year. 

The small family graveyard was alight with candles and he could see some people farther away, he knew they were the children of Minerva, their former housekeeper, and bowed his head in silent respect towards the woman who'd ruled their household like no other for all of his childhood and only recently succumbed to a cold.

With a sigh, Julian knelt down in front of his parents graves, Geralt next to him, still holding his hand. For a while Julian just stared at them, not seeing the stone and grass but his past.

Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, had run away from home at the age of 16, had shouted at his parents that they would never understand his love for music and that he hated them. Packing his bags, he'd run to his uncle in Oxenfurt, who had managed to secure him a place at the university and Julian had studied the seven liberal arts. He hadn't opened any of the letters his parents had sent him for weeks and had refused to listen to his uncle whenever he had tried to talk to him. Oxenfurt had been everything Julian could have ever imagined and he lost himself in music and books and people, trailed along with older students, got his first hangover, his first lay, changed his name and felt alive. He learned the lute and fell in love with the instrument. He lost himself in the practice and studying he had to do. When he remembered the stack of letters on his desk, his uncle having kept every single one of them, six months had passed and the stack had not grown as it should have. Had his parents given up on him after all? 

A few days after the letter for this month, it would have been the sixth, should have arrived, Jaskier's uncle came into his room and sat down with a serious face. He told him his parents had died. A monster had attacked their carriage when they were coming back from a theater play. He didn't believe it at first, shouted at his uncle that it was just a lie to make him come back, to force him away from Oxenfurt and his friends. His uncle had shook his head sadly and left Jaskier alone. 

He refused to cry that night, refused to accept the possibility of his parents gone from this world. He almost burned the letters in a fit of rage but stopped himself, because what if it was true, what if these were the last things he had of his parents? 

The next morning his uncle didn't tell him it was all an elaborate joke, didn't show him a new letter that had arrived and proved his parents were still alive. Instead an official looking letter from Bryce Cromwell, attorney, sat next to his breakfast. It informed one Julian Alfred Pankratz that he was the sole heir to the county of Lettenhove. He was expected within two weeks to accept his inheritance or it would go to the Duke of Kerack. Jaskier had barely understood what he had been reading: agony and disbelief were warring in him, his mind was occupied with trying to keep him together, and words had lost all meaning in the face of the raw pain he felt at the realization that he was an orphan. 

Big drops of tears fell uncontrolled on the paper and his uncle patted his back, letting Jaskier cry. He too had red rimmed eyes once Jaskier had gained back some sort of control over himself. His chest felt like something had been carved out of him. The letter was crumpled in his hand but he would never forget the words. With deep regret I have been assigned to inform you of your inheritance of the estate of one late Alfred Hieronimous Pankratz, Count de Lettenhove and one late Julietta Mariette de Lettenhove, born Julietta Mariette Riannon, Viscountess de Lettenhove…

Jaskier dried his tears and looked at his uncle. He was too young to rule over a county and his uncle would have been the usual choice of proxy until he had finished his studies and gained enough life experience. But his uncle had refused the title once already. He was his father's older brother and had preferred to live his life in Oxenfurt instead of becoming the count, happily signing the title to his younger brother and his spouse. Jaskier's cousin had not grown up as a noble, but as a wealthy merchant instead. "What am I going to do now?" Jaskier asked, voice broken and wet. 

His uncle smiled a watery smile at him, "We'll do what's necessary."

It took several days until Jaskier was able to open the first letter from his mother. He opened them chronologically, starting with the oldest one. His mother had written it just after Julian had left. He regretted the words they'd traded now. In the end it had been such a petty squabble. His father had wanted him to study politics and calculation, Julian had wanted to study music and arts, his mother had tried to find a compromise and suggested music and politics. The letter was a summary of what his father had agreed to: that Julian could study in Oxenfurt as long as he also learned how to rule a county, that the people depended on his knowledge and he had to bear that responsibility if he wanted to become count one day. She also said she'd miss him terribly and would send him money. Jaskier couldn't believe he'd never questioned the money his uncle had provided him with, accepting it just as a kind gesture of a relative.

The second letter was much in the same vein but from both his parents. His father apologized for raising his voice. He had rarely done it before; his parents usually discussed things with him in a much calmer setting. The shouting match had rattled all their bones with how unexpected it had been. The letter stated that his parents would send him money and ensure he could stay at his uncle's house for as long as he needed. It ended with them asking him to take care and to write back. They missed him.

Jaskier broke down after reading those two, not touching the other three waiting for him. They sat there looking so innocent, as if they didn't contain the last words of his family, the last promises of love and safety he'd ever hear from them. He didn't touch them for weeks.

Before the timeframe for his inheritance could run out, they traveled to Lettenhove and the uncle who had never wanted to be nobility and the cousin who had never known anything but Oxenfurt promised to keep Lettenhove running while Jaskier studied and traveled the world until he was ready.

Jaskier buried the letters deep in his bags and didn't open the third one until the empty feeling in his chest, the agony echoing in the empty cavern where his heart was supposed to be, had muted down a bit. He wondered if he'd ever truly feel normal again or if the emptiness was a part of him now. 

The third and, some months later, the fourth letter were a lot like the second. Both his parents told him about Lettenhove. A horse had hurt her leg, the cows had calved, Minerva had become a grandma for the 4th time. The paper still smelled slightly like herbs and the perfume his mother had favored. The tears just kept falling as Jaskier felt himself transported back into a time when his parents would still sit in front of a fire, read a book or embroider and talk about their days while drinking tea. 

He never opened the fifth letter. He had wanted to keep it close to his heart, to pretend as long as it was unopened that there were still words his parents had left to say. And if there were still words to be said, you were not dead, not truly.

Today was the day to open it. Geralt knelt next to him, unmoving, waiting for Jaskier to be ready. They must have stayed there for some time; Minerva´s children were gone again and the candles burned lower than before. Jaskier took the old and battered letter out of his pocket, caressed the elegant script of his mother and opened the envelope with great care. Geralt silently stood up and got more candles so non witcher eyes could read in the dark and Jaskier tried to smile at him but knew it turned out kind of weak.

"Dear Jaskier,  
Your uncle told us you preferred that name now and we respect that. We miss hearing your voice in the hallways and singing in your room when you should have long since been asleep. We miss seeing you running over the grounds and trying to pet the sheep. We miss having you around, but we're incredibly happy and proud to hear that you have been accepted at Oxenfurt and are doing well in your studies for the seven Liberal Arts. I think your father had a tear in his eye, even though he refuses to admit it, when he heard calculus and politics was part of their program. Thank you for doing this. We're proud of you and will always love you. Visit us when the roads are safe.  
Love,  
Mom."

Tears streamed down Jaskier's face as he held the letter. He turned to Geralt who was a silent pillar of support next to him and told him about his parents: how his mother loved their chickens too much and refused to leave them outside in the coldest winter nights, how his father had often fallen asleep reading a book in front of the fire, how his parents had genuinely loved each other and cared about him, even if they didn't always see eye to eye. Geralt listened and took his hand, squeezing it whenever Jaskier's voice broke. When he was done and they both stood up again, his knees hurt from the hard ground and his hands were frozen, but the heavy feeling in his chest felt lighter. 

Geralt turned towards the gravestones and bowed to them. "Thank you for raising such a good man," he mumbled and refused to meet Jaskier's eyes as they walked inside.

That night Jaskier didn´t let go of Geralt's hand. That night Geralt didn´t question it. They spent it together in the same bed, Geralt's arm wrapped around his torso while tears dropped down on the pillow. The warm presence at his back didn't waver even once and Julian, Jaskier, felt something small and warm in the empty cavern his parents' death had left behind. 

The next morning Geralt surprised Jaskier once again, “I want to introduce you to my family as well. Would you accompany me this winter to Kaer Morhen?” 

Jaskier felt tears in his eyes again but this time they were from happiness. “I'd love to,” he whispered before he hugged Geralt tight. And to Jaskier´s surprise his witcher hugged back. They stood like that until a servant knocked at the door, telling them breakfast was waiting.


	4. Yule

They left for the witcher keep with their bags filled with food from one of Minerva's daughters. She had seen Jaskier grow up and always allowed him to snag a sweet bun in the kitchen and still told him he should eat more almost 20 years later.

Geralt led Roach and walked next to Jaskier at a steady but comfortable pace. The bard couldn't help but notice Geralt hadn't taken the ribbon out of his hair. He wondered if his witcher would allow him to braid it some time. 

"Thank you for joining me here." Jaskier mumbled, unusually nervous. For someone so open and talkative he rarely chose to show true vulnerability. Geralt hummed next to him, taciturn as ever, but his face looked more open than usual on the road with the lines around his eyes less pronounced. 

The trek up the Blue Mountains was brutal for a human. They were early according to Geralt, and the snow barely covered the ground, but Jaskier felt his teeth chatter and could barely move his fingers in the cold. Geralt had given him an extra blanket and built a fire, but it didn't help. He doubted he'd be able to sleep at night.  _ At least the stars are pretty,  _ Jaskier thought, looking up into the clear night sky.

“Stop making such a racket.” Geralt grumbled, bedroll close to Jaskier´s and apparently less bothered by the fact that they were surrounded by white sticky snow. The complaint was considerably softened by the fact that Geralt opened his bedroll invitingly and gestured for Jaskier to slip into it. The bard didn't need to be told twice; he was way too occupied with being cold to worry about Geralt feeling embarrassed by their closeness. And his witcher had suggested it after all.

Inside their shared blankets it was toasty warm and it didn't take long for Jaskier to fall asleep, face happily snuggled against Geralt's shoulder.

It took them two more days and two more nights cuddled close together with Geralt acting like it was the most normal thing in the world until they reached Kaer Morhen. Jaskier turned around a corner and there, sitting on the side of the mountain like a dragon ready to jump into flight sat the keep. Dark stone and high towers made it look as much a building for war as for royalty and Jaskier clapped his hands happily, “Oh Geralt, it's wonderful! I can see the stories in the very stone already.” 

His witcher had stopped next to him and frowned at the keep, “Not many happy ones though.”

Jaskier deflated slightly and nodded. “I know, but your family is there and I couldn´t be more excited to meet them. Bet I can make them spill embarrassing secrets,” he laughed and saw Geralt's eyes crinkle when he mock growled, “Don't you dare.”

The keep was everything Jaskier ever imagined and so much more, especially much more running around and helping with repairs than lounging in front of fires and sharing stories. The other 3 witchers, Lambert, Eskel and Vesemir, had looked at Geralt with raised eyebrows for bringing a human, then shrugged their shoulders and Vesemir had given Jaskier tasks like he did with the witchers. In a way it had been nice, almost as if he was accepted as part of their family without anyone needing to mention it. 

In the evenings, the witchers shared stories, slow and stilting at first while looking at Jaskier: Lambert worried Jaskier would write a song about him that´d be unflattering, Eskel worried he´d scare Jaskier with the gory details and Vesemir worried Jaskier would run off with some witcher secret. But after a few days and Geralt being entirely unbothered by any such concerns, the other witchers started talking freely as well.

The days of Yule approached fast and Jaskier noticed none of the witchers seemed to prepare anything for it. Confused, he cornered Eskel, as much as one could corner a witcher almost twice his size, and asked him about their strange behavior. 

Eskel had been most active in the kitchen of all of them and should have long since started preparing any special dishes, after all he had been cooking incredible dishes with barely any ingredients for weeks, well aware they had a long winter in front of them still.

“Eskel, dear, would you answer me some questions?” Jaskier had found out early that the witcher blushed brightly at pet names and compliments and had used it at every opportunity. The second day Eskel had been mad and told him not to mock him but Jaskier´s genuine surprise must have convinced him he meant it. And he did. Eskel was an absolute sweetheart and Jaskier was already writing a song about the valiant amber eyed witcher and his faithful goat.

As predicted Eskel did blush at being called dear and stopped in his tracks.

“Why is nobody decorating or preparing the food? I'm pretty sure a Yule roast has to be cured for a few days.” 

The witcher stared at him with wide eyes. “Why would we do that?”

“Because it's Yule! Because we're together and alive!” 

Jaskier was surprised at his own passion but with sudden clarity he realized it was not only Geralt who saw no reason to celebrate. And he could understand it in a way: they led a harsh life with many hardships, they had lost much of their family. But those very things were also the reason they should be happy to be together. And Jaskier told him so, before he could start being embarrassed at his own words. 

Eskel looked taken aback but Jaskier could also see a tentative determination in his eyes. He nodded, “You make a good argument, bard. Think we have some ham in the kitchen.”

With that they started preparing dishes. Jaskier was not much help, barely being able to cut vegetables but he tried and kept Eskel entertained with some songs. He liked to think Eskel hummed along with them while he was kneading dough.

That afternoon Lambert crossed Jaskier´s path. He stopped and sniffed at him, “Why do you smell like half a fucking bakery and where did you hide those treats?” Golden eyes slightly brighter than Geralt´s put him on the spot. 

Jaskier remembered watching Lambert scaling the walls and had a sudden idea.

“Lambert! My friend!” He tried to put an arm around the witcher but was evaded easily. Lambert watched him with a suspicious glint in his eyes. “The man of the hour, just who I needed!”

"Spit it out or stop talking, bard.” Lambert snarled but Jaskier was sure he could see a slight blush creeping along his cheeks.

“You are a good climber, right? How would you like to put some slightly poisonous plants up on the walls and ceiling of the dining room?”

“Now you're talking my language!” the witcher laughed, “Who we gonna prank? Going to put poison ivy over Geralt´s bed?” 

As funny as the idea was, after all Geralt would only itch for an hour at most, Jaskier shook his head. “I was more thinking about tinsel and mistletoe, maybe some evergreen as well. Make it look festive?” 

Lambert squinted at him, “You plan on making a mushy Yule celebration?” 

Jaskier nodded with a bashful smile. It did sound ridiculous if put like that. These were witchers, grown men much older than he was. Who was he to decide they had to live differently than they were? But instead of laughing at him, Lambert actually seemed to consider it. 

“Does that mean food and booze all night?” 

When Jaskier nodded again, Lambert clapped a big hand on his shoulder that almost sent Jaskier to the floor. “Count me in, bard.”

They had to leave the keep to get everything they needed. Lambert insisted it would not be far and surely Jaskier would not shy away from a bit of snow. Of course Jaskier couldn't ignore that dare and agreed. He regretted it instantly and was very happy he was wearing his additional jackets. They found what they needed easily with Lambert only trying to make Jaskier touch poisonous plants three times. The witcher soon realized that wasn't fun with the bard wearing mittens.

Jaskier was waddled in so many layers of clothing he could have fallen off a wall and not hurt himself, probably would have bounced a bit. But when Lambert suggested trying that theory on some of the smaller walls, which were still pretty damn high, thank you very much, Jaskier gave him an evil glint and followed his resolute "No" with a snowball. Eskel saw the throw and shouted something about a better angle and joined them like an eager pup. 

The 3 grown men shouted and laughed (and cursed in Lambert´s case). Soon Geralt walked out of the entrance, looking to see why they were making such a racket. A well aimed snowball hit him right in the face and before Lambert could brag about making the famous White Wolf even whiter, Geralt retaliated. 

Soon the small scuffle evolved into a full blown snowball fight and before Jaskier realized it, Eskel was wrestling Lambert in the snow while Geralt pelted them both with snowballs with a precision that must have hurt. He was careful not to hit Jaskier though; a human would have surely gotten some bruises. When Jaskier approached his witcher, Geralt even handed him a snowball and told him where his brothers would roll to next so he'd hit the mark. He still crowed when his smaller and weaker snowball hit Eskel in the back of his head.

Jaskier didn´t know how long they had been outside. Despite all his layers, he could barely feel his hands anymore. Geralt stood next to him, face flush from the cold and seemed truly relaxed for the first time. A small smile played along his lips and he looked at Jaskier when Eskel loudly claimed to have had enough and that he would not wash anyone else's clothes after this, especially not Lambert´s, for a week.

His golden eyes shone almost orange in the slowly waning sun and Jaskier realized his witcher wasn't wearing mittens. Without a second thought he took Geralt's hands between his own and rubbed them. Geralt didn't pull away and Jaskier was too surprised at his own actions and bravery to say anything, so they stood for a moment, hand in hand, until Vesemir shouted for them all to get inside right now or they'd run the walls all morning. And to bring firewood, since they already left the main door wide open. After all, they were not trying to heat the whole courtyard and mountain, the old witcher told them loudly.

With a blush, Jaskier took a step back and helped Geralt collect the firewood. His witcher hadn't stopped smiling the whole time. 

When Jaskier woke up the next morning, he knew he had to get Geralt out of the keep in some way to prepare for the evening of Yule. He didn't know why, but he wanted for Geralt to come home to the smell of food and the sound of laughter and music. Lambert looked a bit too eager at the prospect of being allowed to spend all day hunting and "fishing" and it didn't take much for them to convince Geralt that maybe someone should accompany him.

Eskel prepared the roast ham and the smells from the kitchen made Jaskier's stomach growl. Meanwhile Vesemir had ignored their antics so far but that seemed to have come to an end. The old witcher was sitting in the dining room and repairing the hilt of a sword next to the fireplace when he called, "Bard, a word." 

Jaskier felt the small hairs in his neck stand up; the grey witcher had not talked a lot to him over the past week. After their initial meeting, he had told Jaskier to do his part while he was staying with them and help repair the keep and had otherwise opted to mostly ignore the bard besides asking for a song now and then in the evening. Jaskier had not yet been allowed in the library, no matter how much he asked Geralt with puppy eyes. Apparently Vesemir had to offer it to him or he would never be allowed inside. The first few days it had been hard not to try and sneak into a room chock full of knowledge he would not be able to find anywhere else, but Jaskier had listened to Geralt's warning.

"I've seen you tinker all over the keep lately; you're not as sneaky as you think," Vesemir said, not looking at him but instead wrapping new leather straps around the sword hilt. "Do you think we need a human to tell us how to celebrate?" 

Jaskier thought he'd rather be swallowed by the earth than answer that question, but sharp golden eyes pinned him to the ground like a butterfly in a frame. "N-no, I just thought…"

"You thought we needed to celebrate a human holiday. A holiday that's about family and life." Every word felt like a hit. "And you were right. I have been letting it go for far too long after we became so few."

"I- what?" Jaskier managed to croak weakly. This had not gone the way he had expected.

"I´m sure I've seen some nice silverware somewhere," the old witcher started to murmur and stood up, "and a nice tablecloth." Vesemir looked back at Jaskier, still frozen on the spot. "What are you waiting for? Follow me and help." With a start he scrambled after the witcher and was led to the library to his surprise. 

It was massive and Jaskier wanted to spend years reading all those old books but Vesemir had another goal in mind. At the end of the room stood a big chest full of different fabrics. "Dryest room in the keep," the witcher mumbled and seemed almost embarrassed at the fact that they stored their linens in a library. Jaskier just nodded and looked at the different options they had. He felt like yellow or black wouldn't really fit the occasion. Then he found a very soft dark red cloth, almost the color of blood but not quite. The edges were embroidered with trees and birds, with some dark yellow fruits in between them. It looked beautiful and seemed big enough to cover the wooden table that had been built for twice as many witchers as it was used by.

When Jaskier looked around, he was alone but could hear things crashing and clattering. Vesemir was half buried in yet another chest If Jaskier had not known better, he would have thought the old witcher to have fallen into it. With a groan that was half pain and half satisfaction, Vesemir stood up again after a moment, a spider web in his hair but with a small smile on his face. In his hands he held a wooden case with a wolf emblem engraved on it. Once opened, Jaskier could see very old but quite elegant silverware; it was clear these pieces had been crafted with love for the very keep he stood in. "They're beautiful," he whispered.

"Well, stop staring and go on and polish them if you want us to eat before the year ends." The gruff voice was back and Jaskier decided not to try his luck by asking if he was allowed to enter the library again on his own. So he just nodded and did as he was told.

By the time the sun had set, the hall was fully decorated thanks to Lambert's work the day before (thankfully they ate breakfast in the kitchen and Geralt hadn't seemed to notice anything amiss) Eskel had finished his magic in the kitchen and Jaskier had laid out plates and the ancient wolven cutlery. The room looked warm and homely and a small part in Jaskier's chest jumped around nervously. Would this be too much, too pushy for Geralt? Playing family and home with him?

The two witchers returned from their hunting trip faster than Jaskier expected, or maybe he'd just lost his grip on the time while he rearranged the table for the third time and pulled at his doublet to make sure it was sitting properly. The blue ribbon around his wrist barely managed to calm him down. 

"What's going on here?" a gruff voice Jaskier had come to know very well asked and soft steps approached the dining room. Jaskier stood in the middle of it, a silver fork still in his hands when Geralt opened the door. His witcher was covered in soft snow and had red cheeks from the cold. His golden eyes opened wide and his mouth stood open when Geralt saw the room all decorated. "What... Jaskier?"

"It's Yule, Geralt. I thought maybe you wanted to celebrate it with your family?" Jaskier played around with the fork in his hands, a nervous gesture he couldn't stop. 

Geralt took a step closer and took the room in, the merrily burning fire, the table decorated with silverware no witcher had seen in decades and a tablecloth just as old, the smell of ham and roast potatoes wafting through the room. With one more step his witcher stood directly before him and his golden eyes looked at Jaskier in wonder. "You did this?"

"Everyone did. Your family was a big help."

"Thank you." A sword calloused hand caressed Jaskier's cheek carefully, almost as if he was afraid he wasn't allowed to and Jaskier would scramble away and run at any minute. 

But Jaskier pressed into the contact and looked up at his witcher with a smile. "You deserve to be happy throughout the whole year and not just when a village celebrates something."

Geralt looked at him deeply and Jaskier felt his heart accelerate. With one last glance and a bit of hesitation his witcher leaned forward and cold, slightly rough lips met his own. Jaskier stood frozen in shock for the second time that day but for a very different reason and let the fork in his hands fall down. It landed on the stone floor with a loud cling. Geralt pulled away, "I'm sorry, I thought…" but before he could talk any further Jaskier pulled his witcher closer again and kissed him with all the passion he had been too surprised to put into their first kiss. Geralt sighed into the kiss and pulled him even closer until their bodies fit together like two missing pieces of a puzzle.

When they finally had to pull apart to take a breath, or well, Jaskier had to, Geralt looked flush but barely out of breath himself, he stared down at the bard in his arms with wonder and like he held something precious. 

Jaskier looked up at him and suddenly had to laugh. Geralt looked at him in confusion until Jaskier pointed above them to the ceiling, "You kissed me under the mistletoe," the bard gasped. "Hopefully that was not the only reason?" Geralt shook his head before the small sound of insecurity in Jaskier's voice could get any stronger. 

"Can we enter or are you two going to fuck on the table?" Lambert hollered from beyond the door and Geralt almost took a step back but was stopped by Jaskier's hands in his shirt. 

"One more for luck," the bard whispered and put a small chaste kiss on his witcher's lips. The witcher who was more than just his friend now, who would be his companion no matter what happened, of that Jaskier was sure.

With a cheeky wink at Geralt Jaskier shouted back, "What a great idea, I would have never considered that, but now I won't be able to think of anything else all evening." Geralt's lips quirked in a small smile at Lambert's exaggerated groan and he didn't let go of Jaskier's hand when his brothers and Vesemir slowly entered the room after Lambert had deemed it safe for polite company, as much as Lambert counted as such.

The evening was spent with good food, Eskel truly was a great cook, many stories, apparently Lambert had once almost married a princess who had been cursed by uncursing her and fulfilling all the requirements without even knowing about them, and embarrassing childhood tales, like did Jaskier know about that time Geralt bet Lambert he could climb faster up the wall and ended up falling into the mud face first not even half a meter above ground because he slipped, Vesemir told them with a smirk and Geralt hid his face on Jaskier's shoulder. For his part, Jaskier had written a small song about Kaer Morhen and its inhabitants that he wanted to perform. It told a story about hope and loss and about surviving against all odds, but most of all it told a story of kind hearts that did not harden in the face of adversity.

When the evening was over, Geralt accompanied Jaskier to his room. "Thank you for this year," his witcher whispered, holding his hands. Before Jaskier could fully realize it, gentle hands had wrapped a blue ribbon over both their wrists, binding them together like a promise. 

"We can do this every year from now on if you want to." Jaskier squeezed the hand bound to his. This was safety: no matter what they would become, they'd always stay family. 

"I´d like that." Geralt answered quietly before he turned his head just a bit to the left, a silent question for another kiss. 

A question Jaskier would answer every single time. 

For now and for always.


End file.
